Absence: A Glimpse of Loss
by PiscesChikk
Summary: Vignettes showing John Reese's grief over the loss of Joss Carter. - AKA scenes we should have seen on the show. I don't own Person of Interest or its characters.
1. Chapter 1

The room was spinning, and Reese put a hand to his head to steady himself. He opened his eyes, realizing that the movement wasn't coming from the room itself, but from his head. There was a bright light coming through the window, the sun was up, and cast cheerful rays in his direction. It didn't seem to fit his mood, or the scowl that came readily to his face. He sat upright and looked at his surroundings, immediately recognizing the safe house he and Finch had frequented so much lately.

There were leads attached to his chest, a heart monitor by the bed and he groggily pulled at them, ignoring the sing song sound of the beep. The IV in his arm was nothing more than an annoyance as he tore at the tape over it and impatiently removed it. A groan escaped his mouth and he slowly swung his leg over the bed, his feet touching the cold tile. He made his way to the back bedroom, looking for the small amount of clothes he kept there in case he needed them. He took his time slipping into a pair of jeans, a blue button up shirt and a worn navy jacket. It took a little effort to put on shoes for some reason, his hands fumbled with the shoelaces of his sneakers, and when he was done he felt slightly winded.

As he made his way to the door, he caught a look at himself in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the person he saw. His eyes looked hollow, his face unshaven. Without his usual attire, he wasn't the '_Man in the Suit'_ anymore. He wasn't a vigilante; he wasn't the man he was during his time in the CIA. _Who was he?_ It seemed like the second Joss closed her eyes and took her last breath in his arms, he'd lost the sense of who he was. Who was he supposed to be now? Unable to give any answers to those questions, he gathered his watch and wallet from the nightstand and left the room, suddenly desperate to leave the safe house.

When he finally walked outside, he squinted at the glare of the sun, and made his way to the only place he wanted to be. In the back of a taxi, he let his head loll onto the back seat. His body still felt weak and limp, but all he could think about was getting to his intended destination. Once there he stood quietly on the pavement, and tears stung his eyes as he stared at Joss' front door. The street seemed eerily quiet, almost as if dedicating a moment of silence in honor of her passing. There were no children outside, no chatter, not even a car passed through the street. The whole neighborhood seemed somber, as if they knew someone special was missing.

He crossed the street slowly, making his way up the steps. He was used to letting himself in, sitting quietly as he waited for her. Tonight, no matter how long he waited, nobody would come. As he walked inside, he smelled the hint of jasmine, a whisper of her presence remained, but everything else - her furniture, paintings, and photographs - was gone. Upstairs in her bedroom, all of her clothes were packed up into boxes and sealed up. Her bed was stripped, and only the mattress and box spring remained. He walked over to her bureau drawer, seeing a lone jewelry box on top of it.

It looked so small and delicate,

_Just like her_, he thought.

He ran his fingers across the jeweled cover, feeling the gems underneath his hands. He stood motionless for a moment remembering the way she'd held onto him while he kissed her in the morgue.

Why the hell had he waited so long to face how he really felt about her? Why had he been such a coward?

He finally opened it, and looked amongst her things; her earrings, her necklaces, and he found the lone bullet he gave her when they were together in the morgue.

He wondered why he lived when she didn't. He wondered if he was just incredibly lucky to have outlived the love of his life for the second time, or if he was just incredibly cursed. Tears started running down his face, and the feeling of helplessness he had as he held her started to return. He held the bullet in his hand and sat down on the mattress feeling a myriad of emotions all at once.

"Joss….." he whispered, imagining her next to him.

He reached for the gun in his coat pocket and slowly removed the clip. He put in the bullet in his palm and raised the barrel, resting it underneath his chin.

"I'll see you soon, Joss," he whispered brokenly.

His finger lingered on the trigger, and he closes his eyes, getting ready to fire.

_**"John….don't let this…." **_

Thinking of her last words to him before her eyes closed forever, hit him like a ton of bricks. He lowered the gun, and slowly let it fall to the ground.

The reality of her death and the fact that he'd never see her again finally hit him all at once. He became instantly overwhelmed with emotions and the tears flowed freely. He started to shake, and his body was wracked by sobs. No one was there to hear him groan, to quiet his weeping or the agonizing cries that left his mouth. Right now he was nothing more than a wounded animal, his pain raw and deep all the way down to his soul. His only source of strength was gone, the one who'd grounded him and given him a reason to change was lost forever. He wondered how, he wondered if it would ever be possible to recover from the devastating sense of loss that he felt right at that moment.


	2. The Library

Finch made his way up the stairs of the library, and Bear scrambled to get to the top alongside him. As he reached the last step he heard the faint sound of someone typing away at a keyboard. He got closer to his desk and he saw Reese in his chair with a scowl on his face.

Bear bounded toward his owner, and though Reese patted him on the head, he gave no other attention to the dog. Sensing that something was troubling his master, Bear sat on his bed and chewed on a stuffed toy.

"I see you've left the comfort of your hospital bed, which is where you should be instead of the library. There are no numbers today Mr. Reese, but if there were any, I assure you, Ms. Shaw and I have it under control."

It had only been a week since he'd been shot, a week since Detective Carter had died. Not nearly enough time for him to try to resume work or even think clearly.

"I'm not here for any numbers Finch. I'm trying to get the footage from the funeral. There must have been a camera on a nearby building, a cop car, even a cell phone. Please…"

His voice cracked as he spoke the last word, his eyes filled with tears. When Finch looked into his eyes, he saw the man who'd been broken the first time they'd met. He saw the man who'd had a fight with Anton and his friends on the subway.

He'd hoped to never see that man again.

"Help me…"

Reese got up from the chair, putting a hand to his side and winced. No doubt the medication was wearing off, and the pain from his bullet wounds had returned. Finch wordlessly sat down in front of the monitors, and within minutes he'd managed to get footage of the funeral from a lamp pole in the cemetery. It had been installed along with a few others to try to catch vandals who'd been desecrating a few graves there.

Reese stood silently watching the march, the officers in uniform, the large portrait of Joss dressed in her blues. He saw Taylor in front being comforted by his father, both of them crying, both of them wondering why she was gone. Tears ran down his face unchecked, while he and Finch listened to the words of a song as it came sweetly from the lips of one of Carter's cousins. He glimpsed Fusco when he got up to put a carnation on her casket before he left.

She was gone. Her body was lying in the confines of that mahogany, but her soul, her spirit, everything that she was, was gone.

He felt as if there was a gaping hole in his chest, and he couldn't describe the devastation he felt as losing her.

"Why couldn't we save her Finch?"

Finch knew the question would be asked. It was one he asked himself over and over again.

"We saved hundreds of people….strangers….some that…..didn't even deserve it. Why couldn't we save….her?"

"I don't know, Mr. Reese."

"She was…she was….."

He watched the range of emotions as they played over his friend's features. Pain, anger, confusion, none of which he could put into words. Bear started to mewl, sensing that something had shifted in the air, and padded in Reese's direction to rest at his feet.

"She was…."

Finch looked up at Reese, and felt helpless, much as he had as he watch Carter die in Reese's arms. He knew that there was nothing he could say to comfort him, because none of it made sense.

"She was the best of us, Mr. Reese. She was good, and she was kind and she…."

"She didn't deserve to be shot like a dog in the street, Finch! She didn't deserve that. Why couldn't the Machine tell us about Simmons before we lost her?!"

Reese wiped at the tears on his face, but fresh ones ran down his cheeks.

"Mr. Reese…."

"I can't do this anymore, Harold. The numbers, the Machine. Not without her, not anymore."

Reese walked past Bear, slowly making his way to the stair case, but Finch got up, not wanting him to go back on the path he was on after Jessica. He knew all too well where that path would lead.

"John, you can't leave. We set out to help people, to somehow…make a difference….to be better than who we used to be. You….."

"My reason to be better…is gone. Goodbye Harold."

Finch stood helplessly as Reese slowly shuffled down the staircase. Bear stood at the top whining after him. Though Finch called out to him, he wouldn't move. He sat down gazing at Reese till he was out of sight.

"Bear….I don't think he's coming back."


	3. Bottle's End

Reese quickly swallowed the whiskey, gritting his teeth at the burn of the warm liquid, and slammed the empty glass onto the bar.

"Another," he indicated gruffly to the bartender, and watched the man amble over to pour it. "Leave the bottle," he said, downing another shot.

"This is what you plan on doing for the rest of your life?"

He turned his head, scowling at the sight of Shaw sitting on the bar stool next to him. He didn't answer her, but stared straight ahead, his expression flat. It had been three weeks since he'd left the solace of the safe house, and he hadn't set foot in the library since. Joss had been gone for over a month, and he had yet to wrap his head around it. He had in fact intended to drown his sorrows in the familiar taste of Jack Daniels. He'd been successful in avoiding contact with everyone; though he knew that Finch was always watching, always waiting for him to return to work. He didn't know if that was something he ever wanted to do again.

"Bring me a bottle of Diesel," she said to the bartender, and poured her own shot when it arrived.

"What do you want?" he asked her finally after she sat there in silence next to him. She wasn't big on words, sentiment, though he appreciated her silent acknowledgement of his own method of mourning.

She shrugged at his question, and turned slightly toward him. She eyed him from head to toe, with her elbow on the bar and scowled back. He knew he looked a mess. He hadn't shaved since before Joss had been shot, hadn't cared about his disheveled clothing or his hygiene for that matter.

"So you didn't get the pleasure of killing Simmons yourself…get over it. So Elias did it for you. If I were you, I'd shake the guy's hand."

Reese was taken aback at the admission. He hadn't known exactly who'd taken Simmons out. But yes, it had stung bitterly that he hadn't been the one to end his life. He didn't want Simmons to have the merciful death of a bullet to the head. He deserved much, much worse. He was sure that the garrote that strangled the life out of his body wasn't quick or painless, but he would have loved to spend a few days lingering on him, dishing out the torture he'd been trained to carry out. He would have loved to hear Simmons scream, plead, and beg for death. It was the only thing that would make him feel remotely better about the aching sadness and loss he felt and carried around every day.

He wondered why Elias felt the need to avenge Carter. What was his angle? The man had tried to kill her once, kidnapped Taylor. Why would he go to such lengths to make sure her killer got what he deserved?

"Makes you wonder the kind of person she was. If she made that much of an impression on him…"

Within minutes of meeting her, Joss had made him change his mind about putting a bullet into his head. He wasn't entirely surprised that the heart and determination she'd shown when she stood up to him when he tried to take the Dons had won her Elias' admiration. It was Joss's way. People just took to her naturally, even her enemies.

"Still got nothing to say? That's fine; you got the strong silent act down pat anyway." She took another shot, and twisted the empty glass in her hands. "She was a good person. There's not that many people I can say that about, but…she earned it. Besides, any woman who knows her way around a 37mill (mm) is a winner in my book."

He blinked slowly, noting the mischievous gleam in her eye, the hint of a smile, and put a hand to his mouth. The tears he'd successfully kept at bay stung his eyes at the mention of Joss.

"I understand, Reese. You got close to her, and now she's gone. I don't get close to people. No real wisdom in it. People either leave, they die, they disappear. Cole…Cole was the closest thing I had to…a friend. He was curious about our work…where it all originated from….it got him killed. So I understand your need for revenge. I wanted to clear his name, make it right somehow."

"What's your point, Shaw?" he asked raggedly.

"My point is she _was_ more than _just_ your friend. You don't mourn a _friend_ the way you're mourning Carter. Maybe that was something you were lying to yourself about. Maybe that was your way of coming to terms with who she was to you."

"When did you become so insightful?"

"Well you're not the only one who paid attention in spy school," she replied sarcastically. "And you happen to wear your heart on your sleeve believe it or not."

"Then you should be real clear about what I'm feeling right now," he said, and got his wallet out. He was going to pay the tab and leave.

"She's dead, John. She's not coming back. The 'whys' and all the 'what ifs' that are going through your head do not matter. Drinking yourself to death is the coward's way out. If you want to kill yourself, put a bullet in your head and be done with it. But if you really want to honour Carter's memory, I can think of a one way to do it."

"You mean going back to the job? Start protecting the numbers again? Why? Those people mean nothing to me."

"They don't mean shit to me, either. But I do know at least one person who meant something to Carter."

Reese felt rage, uncontrollable and full starting to swell within his chest. It came in suddenly and left just the same. It was like the tide, a push and pull that he couldn't control. He wasn't sure who he was angry with anymore, Simmons, Quinn, or himself.

"She has a son. His name's Taylor, remember?"

_**Promise me…you'll look in on him. Promise me you'll tell him.**_

The taste of whiskey was bitter in his mouth. He was so caught up in his pain, he hadn't thought of Taylor. He felt shame. Joss' last desperate plea was for him to look after her son. He wondered now if he could even look at the boy and have his mother's eyes stare back at him. He'd never been more afraid in his life, but he knew Shaw was right. It was something he had to do. It's what Joss wanted, and she'd trusted him to do it.

Shaw put the cap on the bottle of vodka, and signaled to the bartender. She paid her tab and stood up. Having said her piece, she was preparing to leave.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"Don't thank me, go take a shower. Clean yourself up. You look like crap, John."

He watched her walk out the door, and sat there for a while contemplating everything she'd said. It wasn't long before he walked out into the night, his heavy feet on the path to his loft. He was very much in need of a good night's sleep.


End file.
